


Christmas Three

by Lilsi



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 22:05:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsi/pseuds/Lilsi
Summary: This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!Story Written by - Baxter





	Christmas Three

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!
> 
> Story Written by - Baxter

#  Christmas Three

**by Baxter**

**(** **A bedtime story )**

 

** Disclaimer: Hark the herald angels sing**

**                    Pearsons own most everything**

**                    Luke is their’s, and so is Craig**

**                    Thus the author don’t get paid. **

** Rating:        No problems here. No small parts, no explosives - suitable for all the family. **

** Setting:       Right here, right now. Luke and Craig are a fully functioning couple.**

T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the house three creatures were stirring: two men and a mouse. 

Luke and Craig have had such a busy fortnight. There have been presents to buy, parties to attend, calls to make, groceries, work, Christmas cards and finally, on Christmas Eve, a mountain of presents to sort and wrap. 

They have just finished. Under the soft flashing lights of their large Christmas tree there are now piles of carefully wrapped gifts. Nearby the mantlepiece is cluttered with dozens of cheerful cards, all noted and answered. The fire chatters gently and sends an occasional spark up the chimney. 

Two large stockings, still empty, hang expectantly on either side of the fireplace.

Craig surveys their work from the couch while Luke makes them a plate of cheese and biscuits and pours the wine. 

“We’ve done it!” Craig smiles proudly as Luke hands him a generous glass of cabernet savignon. 

Luke planks down next to him. “Cheers!” and they tap their glasses together. 

Somewhere in the house there is a tiny creaking. 

“I can still hear that mouse,” Luke says with a hint of annoyance as he helps himself to the cheese.

Craig rolls his eyes. “There is no mouse.” 

Way down in the dark wooden structure of the large old flat, Flora scuttles across the floor, making her way to the small gap in the skirting board in between the joins of the dining room and the lounge.  

Flora is the mouse that Luke hears all the time and that Craig insists doesn’t exist. 

She has been in residence for two years, which is a long time for a mouse. 

Like all city mice, Flora is bilingual. Her native tongue is Mouse, but born and bred in London as she is, Flora can understand English very well. She may very well be able to speak it too but it is not likely anyone will ever get close enough to find out. 

She is heading towards the lounge so she can eavesdrop on Luke and Craig’s conversation. They talk about such interesting things, and in such a loving and positive way. 

Mice are very keen on life affirming dialogue. 

Craig eases back into their comfy lounge and opens his free arm to Luke, who slips over and rests against his lover’s warm chest. 

They sip their wine silently. After a while Craig says

“We’ve been so busy for so long I think I’ve forgotten how to relax.” 

“Me too,” Luke answers. 

And after another comfortable silence, Luke says, 

“Are all your Christmas Eves like this?” 

Craig takes another sip. “No, usually I’m working. Why? Are yours?” 

Luke has to think. “No,” he decides. “Usually I’m working or at home or getting pissed with people I don’t really like.”

“Which do you prefer?” 

Luke leans his head right back and looks up at Craig. “This,” he says with a contented whisper. 

“Me too,” Craig agrees. 

And then it’s quiet a little more. 

“What did you do on Christmas Eve when you were a kid?” Luke asks after a while. 

Craig shrugs. “Neighbours came over mostly, or we went to neighbours. It was a small street, and everyone knew everyone. Someone would make bara brith, some one else would make hot wine, you know – a big neighbour thing, and all the kids would run around.” A thought occurs to him. “Actually, that’s probably what it was all about, getting the kids tired so we’d go to sleep.”

“What’s a bara brith?” Luke asks. 

“Welsh teacake. You eat it while it’s warm and it’s got vanilla in it, really nice.” Craig leans over, keeping Luke against him, and places his wine on the coffee table. “You’ll probably get to try some tomorrow at David’s.” 

“Look forward to it,” Luke says. “Did you sleep then, after you ran around?” 

“Not much!” Craig smiles. “Why? What about you?”

“Oh, we were usually at Nan’s, unless my filthy father was around. If he was there it was horrible.” 

Craig strokes his hair softly and Luke continues. 

“Sometimes I used to see those programs on telly, you know the Christmas programs where Santa always comes?

Flora’s delicate pale ears prick up slightly. She loves Santa. 

“Yeah, I know those programs,” Craig says. He doesn’t sound as if he enjoys them much. 

“Kids in those shows always had parents who read them stories.” Luke sighs. “I used to always hope my parents would read me a story. Did you your parents read you stories?” 

“Sometimes, when we were really little.” 

“Spoilt bastards,” Luke says with a grin.

Craig laughs, and it is quiet for another little moment. Luke shifts slightly, easing a little into Craig, who moves his legs a touch so they can both get more comfortable. 

The flames rise and fall and crackle lightly. 

“Tell me a story,” Luke smiles.

Flora moves hopefully to the edge of her little mouse hole, her ears tuned like the finest electronic surveillance system.

“What?” 

“Tell me a story! Tell me one of the stories your mum used to read you. Your favourite one.” 

Craig would love to accommodate him but he can’t remember. “It’s so long ago…” and he thinks carefully. 

“Make one up.” 

But he doesn’t have to. Small threads of colour and light from thirty years ago make their way through Craig’s memory and suddenly he remembers, quite clearly, a story that he loved and that his mother would read him often. 

“You’ll enjoy this,” he tells Luke.

Luke stretches his neck around. “Will I?” 

“You really will. It was my favourite.” 

“Does it have a happy ending?” 

“Sort of.” 

The little mouse’s whiskers droop slightly when she realises it will only be sort of a happy ending. 

“What’s it about?”

“Are you comfortable?”

Luke snuggles in closer. Down close to the wainscotting Flora crouches up and winds her tiny thin tail around her sweet little body, all ears. 

Craig tightens his arm around Luke. “It’s about a little tin soldier. He’s part of a set, the last of a set of soldiers a little boy got for his birthday.” 

“Okay,” Luke encourages. 

“But because he was the last solider made he only has one leg.”

“Why didn’t they send him back?”

“Shut up. So there were 24 soldiers, and they were the little boy’s favourite things to play with. He used to line them up all the time and play war games. But he liked the tin soldier with one leg best because he looked different to the others, so he used to make him the hero of all his games.” 

“He was a politically correct little boy,” Luke observes. 

“Shut up. Anyway, there were lots of toys in the playroom. One of the things in the playroom was a pretty ballerina that belonged to his little sister. The little tin soldier with one leg really fancied her.” 

“The little sister?”

“Shut up. The little tin soldier really fancied the ballerina, and was always extra brave for her. He wanted her to admire him and fall in love him. But he could never get to talk to her because every night he got packed away with the other tin soldiers and the pretty ballerina lived on the mantlepiece.”

“Did any of the soldiers fancy each other?” 

“Shut up. One night, though, the little boy forgot to pack his soldiers away and his mother came in later and just put all the soldiers in the toy box. The little sister had been in there playing too, and she’d left all her toys on the floor, so their mother gathered them all up and dumped them in the toy box too.” 

“Did the other soldiers fancy the ballerina too?” 

Flora frowns. Shut up, she thinks. 

Craig frowns too.

“Shut up. The ballerina ended up next to the little tin soldier with one leg in the toy box and they were able to talk. She told him how brave she thought he was and how much she admired his heroic actions in all the wars he fought everyday. The little tin soldier was very shy though, too shy to tell her that he thought she was beautiful and that he really fancied her.” 

“So he wasn’t that brave.” 

“Shut up. He was a noble soldier who didn’t like to embarrass pretty ballerinas. Anyway, they talked all night in the toy box and the next day the little boy came back and because it was such a nice day, got all his soldiers and took them outside. All except for the little tin soldier with one leg, who he put on the window sill and told him to look out for the enemy.”

Luke is quiet and Craig pauses.

“What?” Go on, I’m listening.” 

“Shut up,” Craig says, smiling, and Luke digs his elbows lightly in his ribs. “Anyway, it was a beautiful hot day and the little tin soldier kept watch on the window sill. He was very proud because he knew the pretty ballerina could see him and he knew that she really liked him. He stands there bravely in the sun for hours, watching for the enemy while the little boy played outside. But the weather turned really quickly, and a big storm came up. The little boy grabbed all his soldiers and ran inside, but he forgot about the little tin soldier on the window sill, and the storm blew him down in to the garden, and a big puddle formed and the little tin soldier was washed out into the street.”

Flora is alarmed.

“What did the pretty ballerina do?” 

“She was horrified but she couldn’t do anything. The little tin soldier was very scared, and lay out near the gutter for a couple of hours, all wet and cold. Then the sun came out and three rough little boys walked by and spotted him. They all laughed at him because he only had one leg, and the little tin soldier was very hurt.”

“Did they help him though?”

“No, they were little creeps. They made a paper boat for him and put him in the water in the gutter, and he was washed away into the drain.” 

Flora draws a quick breath. She feels the little tin’s soldier’s fear. 

“That’s a horrible story,” Luke says. 

“Shut up. I’m not finished.” 

“Does the ballerina save him?”

“No. Shut up.  The little tin soldier washes out into the sea, and a huge fish sees him and thinks he’s food and swallows him whole. BUT,” Craig says quickly before Luke can raise some objection about the fish, “the fish is caught and ends up being sold at a market. A cook buys the fish, and she takes it home to cook for the family she works for.”

“Does she work for the little boy’s family?” 

“Yes! And when she guts the fish she finds the little tin soldier inside! So she takes him back up in to the playroom and puts him on the mantle piece next to the mantlepiece, right next to the pretty ballerina!”

“Did she wash him first?”

Flora is wondering the exact same thing.

Craig is just about shut Luke up again but sees the validity of his question. “Yes, she washed him under the tap before she him took up to the playroom.”

“Good.”

“Shut up. So there he is, next to the pretty ballerina, who is amazed to see him and he gets to tell her all about his brave adventure and what the inside of a fish looks like.” 

“I bet she loved that,” and this time Luke is quick. “Shut up!” he says with Craig. 

“She was very impressed because she’d never been inside a fish.  Meanwhile, the cook has been cleaning up the toy room a bit, because the little boy is having a nap, so she cleans up and gets the fire going so it’s warm for when he plays there in the afternoon.” 

“And…?” 

“Well, the ballerina and the soldier are talking, getting along really well, and the fire’s going BUT the window is still open.” Craig’s voice becomes soft and sad. Flora strains to hear him. “A big gust of wind blew through the window and blew the pretty ballerina off the mantlepiece and straight in to the fire.” 

“Oh, this is awful! What kind of story is this to tell your kids?” Luke says loudly. 

“Shut up. So she’s in the fire, and the little soldier is beside himself. He wants to jump in and save her but he’s just a tin soldier and can only move when someone moves him. So he thinks hard with all his might and tries to move – he tries and tries and tries,” and Craig has closed his eyes tight, just like a person trying really hard might, “and he manages to tip himself over and he lands in the fire too.” 

“Oh, God,” Luke says theatrically while he waves his arms around. “This isn’t a fairy story, it’s a nightmare! No wander you didn’t sleep on Christmas night!” 

“Shut up. Anyway, he lands on top of her in the fire but he can’t do anything. And he tries to tell her he loves her but the flames are too loud.” 

And it is quiet. Flora is stunned with sadness.

“Later that afternoon, the little boy goes into the playroom and sees the fire has been burning but has died down. And in amongst the ashes, he finds this small lump of tin, and it has little pieces of pink tinsel all through it, and it is shaped liked a heart.” 

Luke stares in to space with a face full of misery, Flora’s tiny bottom lip quivers. 

It is silent for quite a few moments. 

“Did you like that story?” Craig asks eventually.

“That’s not what happened,” Luke says with conviction.

“What?” 

“I said, that’s not what happened. It was different.” 

“What do you mean it was different?” 

Flora moves a tiny inch closer to the little gap in the wall. 

“Well, there was a little tin soldier with one leg, and there was a pretty ballerina, but there was another tin soldier, a lower rank soldier, who came in the set and he had both his legs but he wasn’t brave. When the little boy played with him he was always in the front line and he always wanted to run away. The tin soldier was with one leg was brave, but he didn’t fancy the ballerina. The chicken soldier did, or at least he told all the other soldiers he did.” 

“Who did the tin soldier with one leg fancy?” Craig asks, but he has a pretty good idea. 

“He fancied the chicken soldier. And the chicken soldier knew, and he fancied One Leg, but he was too chicken to tell him in case all the other soldiers laughed at him. So he pretended to fancy the ballerina.” 

“So what happened?”

“Shut up,” Like says with great emphasis and immense satisfaction. “Well, there’s another character in the story you obviously forgot about.” 

“Oh, did I?” 

“Yes you did. Shut up. You forgot about the mouse.” 

Flora’s tiny face lights up. A mouse!

“A mouse?”

“Yes, a mouse, except no one ever sees it except the little kid who owns the tin soldiers.  It’s about all he ever talks about. In fact he talks about the mouse so much his parents are thinking about sending him to Switzerland to a clinic.” 

Craig reaches for his wine. “I know how they feel.” 

“Shut up. Anyway, the chicken soldier doesn’t last long in the games, because he’s always killed early on, so he manages to spend a lot of time flirting with the pretty ballerina. She flirts with him too because she wants to be an officer’s wife and give up the ballet. But she doesn’t care much who she marries. The one legged soldier is really upset, because he knows the chicken soldier doesn’t love the ballerina and he thinks the chicken soldier might fancy him but is too scared to admit it. So every night when they get packed away in their little case the one legged soldier gets in the chicken soldier’s ear and warns him about the ballerina and getting married and tries to win his heart.” 

“What does the chicken soldier do?”

“He tells the one legged soldier to get stuffed. But he only says that because he knows what the one legged soldier says is true. Anyway, the chicken soldier marries the ballerina and the one legged soldier is heartbroken. He won’t play any more. Every time the kid with the mouse fixation tries to stand the one legged soldier up he just tips himself over and lays there. So eventually the kid puts the one legged soldier on the mantlepiece.” 

“Next to the ballerina?”

“Shut up.  The ballerina lives in the toy box now. Anyway, the chicken soldier realises he has made a HUGE mistake and is very unhappy. Meanwhile the mouse is there, in the corner, and the kid gets worse, calling out to his mother all day that there’s a mouse in the room but whenever his mum comes upstairs she can’t see anything. And the ballerina’s unhappy because she realises that the chicken soldier doesn’t like her so she tells all the other soldiers and in fact all the toys in the playroom that her husband only likes other soldiers. And they all laugh at him.” 

“This is a sad story.” 

“Not as sad as being eaten by a fish and then burnt alive. Pay attention.  Anyway, the mouse is really upset by all of this and starts to sit on the mantlepiece with the one legged soldier to keep him company.” 

Flora smiles proudly. She’d do exactly the same thing herself. 

“What about the chicken soldier? What happens to him?” 

“He gets worse, and starts to fall over all the time too, and the little kid, who hasn’t seen the mouse up on the mantelpiece, just tosses him – the chicken soldier - into the fire. The one legged soldier sees this and can hear the chicken soldier screaming, and he’s distressed because he wants to save the man he loves, and he tries really hard, really really hard,” and Luke clenches all the muscles in his face “but he can’t move so the mouse pushes him over and he falls into the fire to save the chicken soldier.” 

Flora’s little face is intent, waiting to hear what the mouse will do next. 

“Oh, well that’s much better.” Craig says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “That’s the kind of ending I like. Much better than mine.” 

“Shut up! I haven’t finished. So the mouse knows she has to save the soldiers so she runs down the mantle piece and over to the little boy, and then she runs around and around and around him in circles and he starts screaming for his mother, who comes upstairs and the first thing she sees is the tin soldiers in the fire and she grabs the fire-poker-thingy and gets them out. Then she sees the kid screaming about a mouse but by now the mouse has run away. But the mother can’t take it anymore and she packs the kid’s bag that afternoon and sends him to Switzerland.” 

“Why? Because he saw a mouse?” 

Luke is perfectly smug. “No, because he tried to burn the house down. At least that’s what his mother thought he was trying to do.” 

“She wasn’t a very sympathetic mother,” Craig says, trying not to laugh.

“That’s exactly what all their neighbours said too.” 

“So what happened next?” 

“Well, the mother packed up all his toys and gave them to the local church. Some nutter called Reg bought all the soldiers at the annual fete and lined them all up in his study, next to all his model trains.” 

“That’s not a very happy ending.” 

“Shut up. I haven’t finished. When the mother was packing up the toys she got a bit sentimental, and decided to keep the two soldiers she and the mouse saved from the fire. She put them safely on the chest of drawers, which was no where near the fireplace, side by side. And when she was gone the chicken soldier told the brave one legged soldier that he loved him and the one legged soldier was so relieved he cried.” 

“He did not!” 

“He bloody did. And every night the mouse would come out and visit them on the bureau. They all became very good friends.” 

“What happened to the little boy?” 

“He was in the clinic until he turned eighteen and as soon as he came out he joined the army.” 

“And the mouse?”

Flora is sitting up, bright eyed, her little front paws clutched together tightly. 

“She became very good friends with the soldiers, who loved her because they knew she saved their lives. They used to sit and talk with her every night, and sometimes she would take them for rides around the play room.” 

“This story asks more questions than it answers,” Craig says. “Didn’t the parents hear the mouse when she was giving the soldiers rides? And how did the soldiers get on the mouse’s back? And exactly what clinic in Switzerland locks little boys up until they’re eighteen?” 

Luke blithely ignores all this. “And they all lived happily ever.” 

Flora sighs. The story has quite invigorated her. She plans to wait until all the lights have gone out and then run in circles in the lounge room, re-enacting the brave story mouse’s act of heroism. 

“Anyway, you completely missed the important part of the story.” 

“I can’t wait to hear what that is,” Craig says.

“That there was a mouse!” 

Flora sniggers. 

Craig humphs, about to argue but it’s late and they have such a busy day tomorrow. He draws Luke over close. 

“Come here, my little chicken,” he says softly. “We have to get to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” 

Luke nestles in with contentment and they enjoy a gentle embrace for a few tender seconds. 

Then Luke says, “Okay. Time for bed. I’ll clear up here while you brush your teeth.” 

Flora very quietly steps back in to the dark space of the tiny gap. As Luke passes on his way to the kitchen, he stops and stares at that place, knowing full well who lives there. Flora scuttles off quick smart, through the labyrinth of passages and into the dark interior of the building. 

“Well, it’s Christmas”, Luke says to himself, and breaks up a bit of biscuit and cheese. He leaves it just inside the gap. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says down towards the little mouse hole. 

A little later when Luke is brushing his teeth, Craig makes a detour on his way to bed. He stops in the kitchen, visits the fridge and the pantry, and walks over to the space in the wall, where Luke thinks the mouse lives.  He crouches down and says very softly, “I know you’re in there.” And he pushes in some biscuit crumbs and cheese too. 

Luke and Craig curl up together in their warm comfortable bed. It will be so busy tomorrow. They have brunch with Luke’s family tomorrow morning, and then on to Craig’s brother’s for lunch, and then, in the evening, a very stylish dinner party with a select group of their favourite friends. So much to do, so much love and goodwill to anticipate.

                                                              ***

Craig is up first. He pads around the kitchen, filling the kettle, slicing bread, making the special breakfast he and his soldier will share now they have won the hardest battle of all and finally reached that very special milestone of sharing their first Christmas. 

The slight sounds wake Flora, who stretches in her own comfortable little bed, constructed with great mouse dexterity from pieces of fabric and small lumps of fluff she has collected. She yawns and lifts her tiny nose into the air, hears Craig making breakfast and then Luke stepping out to the kitchen and the beautiful way they greet each other, so happy and so true. “Merry Christmas darling!” they say to each other, and Flora smiles. 

They take their special breakfast into the lounge to open their presents. Flora doesn’t want to miss this and she makes her way briskly over to the small gap in the wall.  

But what’s this? 

She stops still when her sharp nose picks up the scent of cheese and biscuits, and then sees the generous heap by her door.  It is, Flora knows, the kind of present that one would expect would be left for a good mouse and it can only mean one thing. 

Santa’s been!

Out in the lounge, there’s a flurry of activity by the glow of the Christmas lights, coloured paper torn from the packages that have mysteriously been stuffed into the two stockings over night. Flora can hear great gasps of genuine delight and appreciation as cashmere jumpers, computer games, woolly socks, crisp new books, heady French colognes and big boxes of liquorice allsorts are unwrapped. 

This is perfect, just I wanted, Luke and Craig tell her each other and when all the presents are unwrapped they open the new books, smell the scents, pull new jumpers over their heads, admire the fit, wonder if it is too early in the day to start eating liquorice allsorts. 

“What was that?” Luke asks amidst the confusion when he hears the tiniest little crunching sound. “It’s that mouse! Listen!” 

Craig, unshaven and gorgeous in his new heathery Brora pullover, rolls his eyes. “Look, even if there is a mouse, it’s Christmas. It’s allowed to enjoy Christmas morning.” 

Luke looks around him but can’t hear the sound anymore. 

“It’s Christmas,” Craig says again, and addresses the room at large. “Merry Christmas, Mouse!” 

Luke cuffs him on the arm and draws him over, smiling, infused with the fun and pleasure only Christmas can bring. “Merry Christmas, Mouse,” he says too, and kisses Craig gently on the cheek. 

Flora looks up from her feast and smiles, her speck of a heart filled with the cheer of the greeting.  She raises her sweet head and looks out of her tiny doorway, out to the colourful room where her housemates murmur and cuddle. “Merry Christmas!” she says softly, and the little words travel out through the room, disappearing silently in to the warm air.

**********************************

 

The Little Tin Soldier (sometimes called The Steadfast Tin Solider) was written by Hans Christian Anderson in 1838\. While Craig’s version is fairly close to the original version he admits that he glossed over some parts of the story. He meant no disrespect in doing this. Luke’s made up his version of the story as he went along, and apologises if he has appeared to represent any other story, or offended any ballerinas, mice or Swiss clinicians.  

 

 

 

**[Christmas Index](http://web.archive.org/web/20070124002844/http:/www.craiggilmore.co.uk:80/Christmas/ChristmasIndex.htm)**

 


End file.
